


Icy streets and thawed hearts

by kitbug



Series: Rough Sailing [3]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Blood, Drinking, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Prompt Fill, Purple Hawke, Swearing, Tumblr Prompt, a little silly, but so is the prompt XD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 13:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18572128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitbug/pseuds/kitbug
Summary: Hawke has a ridiculous semi-near-death experience walking home from the Hanged Man.  Isabela takes care of her and continues coming to terms with her feelings for Hawke.  Set late Act 3.





	Icy streets and thawed hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from [EllsterSMASH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllsterSMASH) on Tumblr: ‘that’s a nasty bump.' + ‘ you’re lucky. that icicle could’ve killed you.' for f!hawke x isabela!! :D

They stumbled through the door to the mansion, Hawke’s arm around Isabela’s shoulders.  Isabela did her best to keep them both upright— they were both tipsy from the swill at the Hanged Man, but _she_ wasn’t the one possibly sporting a mild concussion.  Hawke tripped on the carpet in the foyer and nearly pulled both of them down.  Her raucous laughter pealed through the mansion.

“Ah, Messere Hawke, you’ve returned!”  Bodahn threw open the door, his jovial smile faltering at the sight of them.  “I— Messere, you’re bleeding! Shall I send for Master Anders?”

“No need, it’s not that bad,” Isabela grumbled and bodily dragged Hawke into the living room.  She eased the other woman down into her favorite plush chair by the fire that Bodahn faithfully kept stoked in the winter.  “Fetch me a bowl of water and some rags, if you please?”

He stuttered an affirmative and scuttled off. 

Hawke’s ice blue eyes stared up at her, a touch unfocused, but content, despite the blood oozing from the wide cut across her right brow.  “Bela, give me a kiss,” she said in a sing-song tone.  "Make it feel better."

“Hush, you.”  Isabela brushed Hawke’s black bangs out of the wound and sighed.  Hawke hissed at her touch. In the light of the fire, she could see the skin around the cut was already swollen and darkened.  “That’s quite a nasty bump.”

“What happened?  Trouble on the streets again?” Bodahn asked, setting the bowl and rags on the small table beside the chair.  He set down a roll of gauze as well. “Do I need to send for the guard?”

“No, nothing so dramatic.”  Isabela sighed heavily and pressed one of the rags to Hawke’s forehead.  She placed Hawke’s hand on it. “Hold this here for a bit so we can stop the bleeding.”

Hawke gave her a crooked grin.  “Yes, Dr. …” She cut herself off and pursed her lips.  “Huh.”

“What?”

“I don’t actually know your last name.  Do you even have one?”

“I _did.”_ Isabela dipped the other rag into the water as she knelt down and dabbed at blood drying around Hawke’s eye.  “Stopped caring for it when Zevran did me the unintended courtesy of assassinating my late husband.”

“And before?”

“I don’t care for that one either.”

Hawke hummed a thoughtful note.  “What about mine?”

“Don’t be daft,” Isabela said, laughing.  “We aren’t married.”

“We could be.”

Isabela’s heart lurched in her chest at the matter-of-factness in Hawke’s voice.  She tamped down on the feeling of inadequacy she found herself fighting less and less the more she accepted she _could_ be loved.  That _Hawke_ loved _her_.  “Let’s… save that discussion for when we’re both sober, Oli.  And not sporting a head injury.”

Hawke’s eyes softened and her cheeks flushed.  “I love it when you call me that, Bela,” she murmured.

Isabela’s lips curled with satisfaction.  “I know.”

Bodahn cleared his throat to regain their attention.  “And… what happened to Messere Hawke?”

Hawke groaned low in her throat.  “The city didn’t clear the roads. What the hell am I paying their outrageous taxes for?”

“I beg your pardon?” Bodahn asked for clarification.  “The roads in Hightown were cleaned quite well today when I took the boy out shopping.”

“We were coming back from the Hanged Man, and the roads in Lowtown were slicker than a greased up whore at the Rose.”  Isabela moved Hawke’s hand and peeled the cloth from her wound. The bleeding had almost stopped. She dabbed at Hawke’s brow gently.  “Hawke fell on her ass and slid into the side of a building. Knocked a rather large icicle loose that hit her.”

“Yes, but seriously _what_ is the city using my taxes for?” Hawke groused, but held compliantly still.  “Can’t even clear the roads properly, much less elect a fucking new visc—”

“ _Hush_.  You’re lucky, you know.  Few more inches to the right and that icicle could’ve killed you.”  Isabela looked over her charge and nodded, satisfied. She tossed the rags into the bowl and handed them off to Bodahn.  “Can you imagine? The Champion of Kirkwall, brought low by a stray shard of ice.”

Hawke waved a flippant, dismissive hand.  “I’m sure Varric would have embellished my end to something more suitable of my station.”

“Or he’d tell the truth because it was so unbelievable.”

“Hnnnnnn, fair point.  You’d’ve had to make up something suitably heroic to tell him.”

Isabela snorted as she wrapped the gauze around Hawke’s addled head.  “He was _there_ , love.  He watched you fall.  And slide. And get hit.  And he laughed hysterically.”

“That was _him_?  Traitor.”  Hawke made an exasperated noise and pouted, but the effect was undercut by her huge yawn.

“Come on,” Isabela said as she pulled Hawke up to her feet.  “Let’s get you to bed before some other ridiculous thing happens.”

“You say that like _everything_ that happens to me isn’t utterly ridiculous.”

“True.  Best not to think about it too much.”  She sat Hawke on the edge of the large bed in her room and stripped her down to her smalls.  Her eyes lingered on the jagged scar across Hawke’s belly. A mirror of it ran across Hawke’s back.  Guilt rose like bile in her throat.  “You might start to regret things.”

Hawke’s hands cupped her face and pulled her in close.  “Not you,” she said quietly. “Ridiculous as you are, I will _never_ regret you.”  Her lips canted into a smirk.  “Unless you disappear on me for three years again.”

“You’d have to chase me off first,” Isabela replied, equally quiet.

“Good.” Hawke’s lips met hers, softer and far more tender than she ever felt she deserved.  “Stay the night?”

“Always.”  Isabela reluctantly pulled back, shucked her own clothes, and climbed into bed on the other side.

Hawke slipped under the covers and cuddled in tight, head pillowed on Isabela’s bosom and arms tight around her.  Isabela wrapped an arm around her shoulders to pull her even closer and carded her fingers through Hawke’s silky tresses.  Hawke's muscular form emanated warmth like a furnace. Isabela couldn’t help but think how welcome that would be in her bunk on the high seas.   _Someday_.

She pressed her lips to Hawke’s forehead, careful of her injury.  Hawke responded with a sleepy mumble she couldn’t parse and burrowed her face into Isabela’s shoulder.

“Good night, Oli.”

“G’night, Bela.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr is here](http://kittlesandbugs.tumblr.com) if you want to drop by and say hi! :D


End file.
